


52

by i_was_human, TsukiDragneel (i_was_human)



Series: Danganronpa Birthday Oneshots [48]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Easter Eggs, Goretober, Goretober 2019, Happy Birthday Amami Rantaro, Spoilers, a bit of theory too, danganronpa 52, goretober day 3 - pastel gore, tiny ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 01:56:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20884268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_was_human/pseuds/i_was_human, https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_was_human/pseuds/TsukiDragneel
Summary: When he dies, his blood is pink.Something about pastel blood being too much for viewers, right?Tsumugi steeples her hands at her desk, a demented grin on her face. "How corny," she muses, reaching for a thumbtack.It pricks her finger.She bleeds dark blue.





	52

_Rantaro Amami. _

_Danganronpa 52. _

_Start._

* * *

He's the Ultimate Adventurer. 

And it fits him well, it really does. The restlessness in his bones, the excitement that comes with each breath... this fits him.

And he's alright, honestly. He's a pretty chill guy, so this whole killing game doesn't bother him. 

Not like it bothers the others.

One girl seems twitchy, nervous, antsy. She's going to kill someone.

* * *

Rantaro walks in on a scene of pastel gore.

The cotton-candy-haired dancer lies on the ground, hair mingling with the blood spilling from his gut. Pastel pink spills from his lips, and he coughs again, tears spilling down his cheeks.

The twitchy girl stands, pink coating her slender hands. She's the Ultimate Programmer, he thinks, but he doesn't care.

Not when she's charging at him with a knife.

"Rantaro!" someone shouts from the door, and he dodges, letting her trip over herself in her haste. She's not good at this.

He is.

He grabs one lilac twin-tail and yanks her to the ground, pressing a boot to her hand. The knife falls from her grip, and people rush past him to the dying dancer, trying in vain to stem the bleeding.

Rantaro knows he's going to die.

(They set a trial record, and the lilac-haired girl dies in machinery, the gears painted bright lavender)

* * *

Rantaro attracts death like moths to a flame. 

He's sitting in the kitchen, having a snack, when he hears two voices in the dining hall.

"What did you want?" the teal-haired pianist drawls, a scowl on his face as he taps a rhythm on the table. He sips on a steaming cup of coffee, and Rantaro sneaks closer, gaze pinned on the two.

He's morbidly curious to see what happens next.

His friend - a lanky, violet-haired philosopher - simply stares at the floor, lips set into a frown. "I'm sorry."

"For wha-"

Teal blood explodes from the pianist's mouth, and he falls to the ground, blood dripping from his lips and painting the tile blue-green. He convulses, once, twice, before falling still, and the philosopher regards him with detached concern. 

"Sorry," the man simply states, standing and leaving the room.

(He too, dies, the same phrases he once loved now thrown against him in a horrifyingly literal sense. Glass shard and rocks gleam with deep violet blood as Monokuma disposes of him, the bear smiling brightly as he regards the carnage)

* * *

Golden and silver blood is spilled as the skater and gymnast meet their fates, and Rantaro's there to see it. 

The gardener is disposing of the skater's body, a bit of lime green blood on their hands as the weapon cuts into their palm. The gymnast enters, and the body alert flashes - so, too, do the blades of the hedge trimmers. 

The gymnast is killed slowly, brutally, their body stained with gold and azure eyes open wide as they stare into the sky.

Rantaro wants to laugh.

"The jig is up," he grins, sauntering into the killer's line of view. 

And the gardener turns, a deranged, demented smile on their lips as they stare at him, lunging for him just as the programmer did. 

But the gardener is skilled. They nick his cheek before the self-proclaimed heroes can enter, and Rantaro laughs. 

Really, really laughs, as they press the gardener to the ground.

(Choked by thorns, and it's fitting, blood trickling down their neck and pooling on the floor)

* * *

The chef throws himself off the roof. 

Rantaro watches him hit the ground, watches the way pale yellow blood spills around his broken, twisted body. Watches as the others see and the screams roll in.

And he laughs.

Because, really, what else is there to do?

* * *

In the last trial, the anatomist goes on a killing spree.

It's sloppy, purposefully so (though Rantaro's not sure if the man is deranged, or a genius). Orange meets red meets aqua meets black, and he laughs, the blood staining his hair as he grins.

"You don't see," he breathes. "You don't see, this is _merciful_, this is _mercy_-"

"Fucked-up mercy," Rantaro remarks, and the anatomist growls, white blood dripping from his needle-pricked hands.

"You know _nothing_," he hisses. "Nothing, nothing, _nothing_-"

"I know enough," Rantaro replies.

The body announcement rings, and the anatomist screams.

(Another short trial)

* * *

Rantaro sacrifices himself for death.

Better than living like this, right? Has to be.

But it's not death. It's much worse.

(He wishes he was dead, as the helmet comes down and his memories take flight. He wishes he was dead with all his heart)

* * *

_Rantaro Amami._

_Danganronpa 53._

_Start._

* * *

Rantaro sees Monokuma and knows he's been through this before.

* * *

There's another pianist. Huh. 

(Why does he say another? He's never met a pianist. Or he could have, and not know it)

His head hurts.

His blood isn't red.

It's <strike>green</strike> pink.

* * *

_"You want to die. I don't care how, just do it."_

* * *

When he dies, his blood is pink.

Something about pastel blood being too much for viewers, right?

Tsumugi steeples her hands at her desk, a demented grin on her face. "How corny," she muses, reaching for a thumbtack.

It pricks her finger.

She bleeds dark blue.


End file.
